Visiting Mother
by A. Kingsleigh
Summary: Eighteen years ago, Dora Luz Posada walked out of her daughter's life. Now she wants back in. The only question is if she'll be allowed to. A short story, no longer than three or four parts.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.**

* * *

_Dear Maria,_

_My first request is that you give your father a good smack for not inviting me to your wedding. Then give him another for refusing to tell me a thing about it. Not even who your husband is! You two must find the time to come see me. Just send a telegram telling me when you're free, and I'll make all the arrangements. Everyone here misses you, my dear girl. Our time apart seems much longer than it has truly been. There is much I want to tell you, more than I can put in a letter. With luck, I can see you again before long._

_Love, Mama_

That was all the note said. The letters were slanted and ran together, as though its author had been in a hurry. Maria's expression was hard and sullen as she carefully folded it, and Manolo thought he heard a low growl from someplace deep within her throat.

"When did you last see her?" he asked.

"When I was fourteen."

"Has she written you before?"

"No." She stood and looked at the fireplace, as though she was about to toss the note into the flames, but she kept it clasped firmly in her hands.

"Well…would you like to go?"

"Would you?"

"She's your mother." The thought of meeting the elusive woman was an intriguing one, he had to admit. He had only heard of her through the overheard grumblings from General Posada and the rest of the townsfolk.

Maria unfolded the paper and read the words one more time. She looked at the fireplace, then out the window. Sitting beside her husband once again, she let out a deep sigh. "We should."

* * *

Manolo's jaw dropped the moment the Barcelona coastline came into view, and it had hardly closed since. Many times during Maria's years away, he had stared at drawings and photographs imagining where she might be. They had done nothing to prepare him for the real thing.

The cobblestone streets were not narrow and winding like in San Angel, but straight and stately and often wide enough to build a house in. The broad stone buildings towered over him - not bright and inviting like in the Land of the Remembered, but stern and foreboding. The people took no notice of the sights, keeping their faces turned downwards as they rushed along without a word to one another.

"Where does she live?" he asked Maria, tightly holding her hand as he looked around.

"The hills outside town. She said she'd come pick us up." She wore a look of resignation as she observed their surroundings, as though she fancied herself a recaptured prisoner. A moment later, she let go of Manolo's hand and slipped off in apparent pursuit of something she had noticed.

He began to follow her. "Where are you - "

The loud, grating blare of a horn made him jump back, along with several other people. His eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets as a large, long car came rolling into view. Its body was bright silver and yellow, the tires white, the whole thing glittering obnoxiously in the sun.

In the drivers' seat, an older woman was looking around. Small, graceful wrinkles curved up around her mouth, and hints of gray were just entering her bobbed, curly brown hair. She wore a plum jacket, brown leather gloves and a tan, plaid cap that was tipped back. A pair of goggles obstructed her eyes, and she pulled them down to reveal a piercing, animated gaze that darted from face to face. When she saw Manolo and Maria, her face broke into a broad grin as she waved vigorously.

Maria waved back, putting on a cautious smile. _"Hola,_ Mama."


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.**

* * *

Dora Luz Posada was a woman who had done the unthinkable. In the middle of the night, three months after her daughter's birth, she had stormed into her husband's office and declared that she was going to leave him. "I want to make it official, too," she added. "As soon as possible."

First the general had pleaded, then he had threatened: where would she go? What would everyone think of her?

"I don't have any use for what they'll think," she answered. "And neither should you."

At last he relented, and the necessary steps were taken. She demanded none of his possessions, only what her father had promised him when the marriage had been arranged - she didn't even want the girl. When the deed was done, she merely packed her bags, commandeered a stagecoach and disappeared into the desert.

No one in San Angel saw her after that - she'd gone back to Spain, some said, to her family's estate. It was just as well: no need for a troublemaking shrew like her around. Manolo heard her called that, and things far worse. Slowly he had built in his head the image of some distant, aloof figure. One who was shrouded in shadow and sat watching the sorrow she had caused from miles away.

At first glance, however, it seemed that he couldn't have been more wrong.

"Just _look_ at you!" the woman exclaimed, leaping out of the car and sweeping Maria into a tight hug. "At least those nuns saw to it that you grew up well." She looked to be about forty, with small wrinkles around her eyes and hints of gray in her hair. Still, it was clear which parent Maria had gotten her looks from.

"Yes," Maria answered, still looking uncomfortable.

Letting go of her, Dora Luz turned to Manolo. "And this is your husband, I suppose?" she asked, surveying him with an air of suspicion.

"Y-Yes, _señora,"_ he answered, finding his voice. "Manolo Sanchez."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Carmen's boy?"

_"Si."_

The woman clicked her tongue pensively. "Not the man I would have expected your father to choose for you, Maria."

"He didn't," Maria said, taking Manolo's hand. "I chose him."

Dora Luz emitted a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "Did you now? Sounds like quite the story already."

* * *

They sped along the roads, Maria sitting beside her mother and Manolo behind them. The car wove its way through the busy streets, and then into the hills outside the city. Manolo gripped the soft leather seats as they sped up, and he thought he saw his mother-in-law glance at him through one of the mirrors.

Hours seemed to pass as the car wheels pressed down the dirt beneath them and the dark green grass flew by. At last they rounded a bend and came upon a tall, wrought iron fence with **RAMIREZ** arching above the gates.

"You never changed it," Maria said.

"I don't see why I should," Dora Luz answered. "This was all your grandfather's, you know?"

Her daughter simply nodded.

It took ten more minutes of driving before the house appeared. A tall, wide villa of white stone with arched doorways, red tiles on the roof and a balcony on nearly every window. Colorful gardens surrounded it, and in its center was a courtyard with a fountain. The car pulled up the drive and into the yard, circling around and stopping at the front door. Several old men in neatly pressed suits emerged from inside and opened the car doors.

"Take the luggage to the east wing bedroom," Dora Luz told them, then turned to her guests. "Dinner's nearly ready. I'll take you on a tour first."

* * *

The outside of the house was bright, but the inside was a different matter altogether. It was a maze of corridors, each one tall and dark and moody as the footsteps of their occupants echoed off the walls and ceiling.

Manolo walked behind the women, his pace slower as he looked at the myriad of objects adorning the path. There were pictures, yes - but also swords, statues, masks of all shapes and sizes, ores cracked open to expose their sparkling interiors. It was like walking through a museum.

"See that?" Dora Luz said, pointing to a photograph of a castle on a hill. "Neuschwanstein. Lovely place. And that one of Macchu Picchu is from two years ago. I got that sword from Kyoto, and that's a genuine _Fabergé _egg!"

"You went to Russia?" Maria asked.

"Years ago, of course. One of the first places I visited!"

Maria looked down, and Manolo thought he heard her mutter something along the lines of "You never told me that."

The dining room was just as large and lonely as the halls. The only light came from an old chandelier fitted with lightbulbs which cast garish, artificial light into the shadowy corners. They had paella and gazpacho that evening: "You always liked that, Maria," Dora Luz said, "didn't you?"

She talked incessantly of the places and people she had encountered, as though trying to fend off an encroaching silence. Only when Manolo was able to get a word in did she seem to remember he and Maria were there. He did his best to answer all her questions, telling her how happy they were. Maria was much more blunt - yes, the wedding was lovely. No, they hadn't thought about children yet. Yes, Manolo was treating her well.

"I don't remember you being this quiet," Dora Luz remarked as they finished dinner.

"It was a long trip," Maria muttered.

"I'll show you your room, then."

It was small, with a high ceiling and a bit of a draft. There was a closet door, a mahogany dresser, a picture of a beach where a window might have been and a large bed with a frame that creaked loudly.

"I'm in the other wing," Dora Luz said, "so you don't need to worry about making too much noise if you're inclined to - "

_"Thank you,_ Mama," Maria snapped as she and Manolo's faces turned red. "It's very nice. We'll be fine."

The older woman smiled and closed the door. As soon as her footsteps faded away, Maria sighed and collapsed onto the bed, rubbing her temples.

"Are you okay?" Manolo asked, lying next to her.

"I can tell you aren't."

He let out a small, tired laugh. "It's just…I'm new to all this. Did you ever feel like that? When you first came here?"

"It never really stopped."

Manolo wrapped his arms around her, and she snuggled into his embrace. "So what do you think of her?" she asked.

"I'm not sure yet."

That was all they said. Within a few minutes, Manolo was drifting off. Maria stayed next to him, listening to his breathing even out. Only when she was sure he was asleep did she stir. Slipping out of his arms, she got out of bed, opened the bedroom door and crept off down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.**

* * *

Maria found her in the courtyard, sitting on the edge of the fountain and running a hand across the cool, rippling surface. Wispy clouds partially covered the full moon and cast silver veins across the ground. The only sound was that of the older woman softly humming a tune.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Maria took a breath and cleared her throat. "Mama."

Dora Luz fell silent but did not turn to look at her. "I know what you want, _mija."_

"…Why?"

Sighing, her mother looked up. "You'll need to be more specific."

She took a breath and tried to begin again. "Why are you doing this?"

"Asking you here?" Dora Luz stood and began to walk towards her daughter. "I don't really know why. So that we might know each other again, I suppose."

"Again?"

"It wasn't until I got your father's letter that I realized just how much I had missed…"

Maria darted out of her reach. "You missed _everything."_

"Your father and I agreed it would be best if I stayed out of - "

"For_ eighteen years?"_

"I wished I could have helped you - "

"Then why didn't you try?"

"I _did_ try," the older woman answered, her voice growing sharper.

Maria laughed harshly. _"That_ was trying? Trying would have been answering my letters and visiting me more than once a year. But I guess leaving me in that convent while you waltzed around Europe was more important?"

"You don't appreciate all that your father and I did?"

"You both _abandoned_ me!" There were tears brimming in her eyes now, and her hands had balled into trembling fists. "Papa couldn't break me, so he sent me off to have someone else do it for him. And where were you all that time? Doing everything you promised we'd do when you bothered to check on me? Did you even _read_ my letters?"

"I could tell you were - "

"Then why didn't you _do _anything?"

Dora Luz started to shake her head and pace back and forth, wringing her hands, and this only seemed to make Maria angrier. _"Well?"_

She stopped, facing away from her daughter. "…Your father - "

"Oh, so you were brave enough to leave him but not brave enough to stand up to him when I couldn't."

"It's not as simple as that! You know perfectly well why I left."

"So that meant it was okay to leave me, too?"

"That's _enough,_ Maria - "

"Did you even want me at all?"

"Maybe I didn't!"

The younger woman recoiled, unprepared to hear the answer she had been imagining. Dora Luz froze and squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at her daughter's face. _Oh no. No no no. That's not true, that's __**not true.**_

She slowly looked up. "Maria, I'm…"

But Maria was already gone.

* * *

The next morning's coffee was cold and more bitter than usual. Dora Luz sipped it slowly as she stared at the empty chair on the other end of the table. A myriad of opened letters sat in front of her, carefully sorted and stacked. She read and re-read the ones which had been sent to her, and stared with disdain at the ones she had been too afraid to send in return.

Heavy footsteps in the hall got her attention, and she looked up to see Manolo walking through the arched doorway. His hair was still a mess, and exhaustion and worry were written on his face. At first she thought nothing of it. "I suspect you'll be on your - "

"Have you seen Maria?" he asked. "I can't find her."


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.**

* * *

So this was what it felt like to have your blood run cold. "What?" Dora Luz asked, the color draining from her face.

"I haven't seen her since last night," Manolo answered.

"Did you check the library?"

"First place I looked."

"And the conservatory?"

"I've looked all over the house, senora."

"She didn't leave a note?"

"Just her necklace." He held it up for her to see. The black ribbon was broken, as though it had been ripped from its owner's throat.

"She came to the stables before sunup." A passing servant had overheard them and poked her head through the doorway. "Rode off towards the orchard. Didn't say when she'd be back."

Dora Luz leapt from her seat. "I want two horses prepared at once," she said, then turned to Manolo. "You're coming with me."

* * *

It was going to rain, that much was certain. Gray clouds covered the sky, and a cool wind swept across the dark green hills. _She always catches a cold in this sort of weather,_ Dora Luz thought, shivering.

"Is that the orchard?" Manolo asked as they ascended a hill overlooking a glade of trees. The horseshoe tracks they'd been following for the past twenty minutes sloped down towards it, growing more erratic as they went.

"Yes."

Spurring his horse onwards, Manolo took off down the hill. "Maria?" he called. "Come back to the house! Your mother's getting worried."

Dora Luz trailed after him and fell further behind as they rode through the trees. _It's not safe for her to be out here alone._ Losing oneself in the thick foliage was all too easy, and the servants regularly spoke of coming across snakes while working. _She was only trying to get away from you._

A loud, sharp shriek pulled her out of her thoughts. _"Maria!"_ Practically jumping off his horse, Manolo was running towards a figure lying still in the grass.

The young woman's hair was full of knots and brambles, her skin covered in cuts from branches and thorns. On the side of her head was a bloody gash, and her right leg was unnaturally twisted to a degree that was painful even to look at. Her eyes were barely open, and each shallow breath she took made her wince.

She looked up at Manolo as he gathered the upper half of her body into his arms, trembling. "Guess I should've looked where I was going…"

"I-It's okay," Manolo choked out, brushing the hair from her face. "Everything's going to be okay…"

_"Mija,_ what happened?" Dora Luz asked, daring to approach.

Maria simply scowled at her before closing her eyes.

Manolo's face grew pale. "What do we do now?"

"We get her back to the house," Dora Luz answered, casting a glance up at the gathering storm clouds. _"Now."_

* * *

The horse had tripped on a rock and thrown her - it was found later wandering around the orchard, perfectly unharmed. The unconscious girl was carried back to the house with a makeshift stretcher: Manolo and Dora Luz had been lucky to find her when they did, the doctor said as he tended to her injuries. As it stood now, it wasn't going to kill her - perhaps. There would be no going about for her, though, not until the leg began to heal. So she was put to bed with a bandage around her head and a cast on her leg, and her family was told to call for the doctor again should she take a turn for the worse.

Dora Luz hesitated before knocking at the bedroom door. "Come in," she heard Manolo say. No going back now.

Maria still lay asleep, her head slumped to one side. In a chair by the bedside sat Manolo, who was trying to pay attention to a book in his lap. Finally he put it aside, adjusted the bedsheets and walked to the window. He watched the raindrops sliding down the glass for a few seconds, then walked back to the bed and adjusted the sheets again.

"She'd laugh if she saw how much you were fussing over her," Dora Luz told him.

"I wish she would, then." He sat down again, not taking his eyes off her. "I don't know what else to do…"

"You've done all you can. She'll be fine."

He didn't look at his mother-in-law. "I can't lose her," he said softly as he took Maria's hand. "Not again." He took a deep breath, as though trying to hold back tears. "Why did she go out there, anyway?"

"Me."

He looked up. "What?"

Dora Luz had sunk into a chair on the other side of the bed. "Last night she asked me why I never wrote or visited. If I'd ever wanted her. And…and I said perhaps I didn't."

Manolo didn't answer for a full minute. When Dora Luz finally looked up at him, his eyes were wide as he stared at her. "Did you…mean it?" he asked.

"No."

"Then why did you say it?"

"Why we all say things we don't mean to people we love." She was silent for a moment, stroking Maria's hair. "I suppose you've heard quite a bit about me."

"A few things."

"Shall I tell you my side of them?"

"Sounds interesting."

She smiled sadly as she leaned back in her chair. "When I was her age," she said, "I had all sorts of plans. I was going to see every country in the world, all the great ruins and tombs and towers, everything you could imagine. Really make something of myself. And then one day, my parents sat me down and told me we were going to Mexico for my own wedding."

Manolo winced.

"It was all arranged, of course. I never loved him. I didn't even meet him until a few weeks beforehand. I was trapped before I could really realize it. I didn't until…"

"Until Maria came along?"

Her face seemed to fall even further. "When Jeronimo heard we'd had a girl, he didn't even come to see. He just left us alone and went back to work as though there wasn't a child at all. I looked down at her and I thought, 'So this is it. This is the hand you've been dealt.' I didn't think that…" She paused and looked down at Maria. "That something good could come out of where I was. I was young and foolish, and all I wanted after that was my freedom. I didn't give any thought as to what it would cost me."

"What happened after you left?"

"Mother had passed not long after the wedding, and people say Father dropped dead when he heard what I'd done. That's how I got the estate."

"And then you traveled?"

"I tried to forget. I thought I could put it all behind me and move on, and that would be that. It worked for eight years. I suppose you know what happened after that."

Manolo nodded. "You took her to Spain."

"That was the first time I'd seen her since leaving. Such a precious thing!" She smiled and laughed a bit at the memory. "I was so amazed I could hardly say a word."

"So why didn't you keep seeing her after that?"

Her smile faded. "I thought I'd lost my chance. That she wouldn't understand why I left and wouldn't want me back. Besides, she needed a real mother. Not someone like me. So I kept my distance because I thought it would be best. 'Maybe someday you can come back,' I thought. 'Maybe when she's older, she'll understand.'"

Manolo reached across the bed and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I think she would," he said. "If you talked to her."

Dora Luz looked down at the figure between them. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, or perhaps Maria's skin was growing paler. "I hope I'll be able to."


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.**

* * *

Manolo had only agreed to leave his wife's side and get some fresh air once he was certain that an eye would still be kept on her. Dora Luz assured him that she would keep watch, just in case anything happened - she was better prepared for Maria's turning worse, anyway.

The girl waking up was another matter altogether.

She was looking out the window when she heard Maria stir and mutter under her breath, and for a moment, she considered fleeing while she still could. "Oh no you don't," she muttered, glancing down at the object in her hand. _No more running._

Taking a breath, she turned around. _"Mija?"_

Maria lay on her back, blinking slowly. Her gaze drifted back and forth, and her mouth moved as though she wanted to form words but couldn't. She tried to push herself up and move her leg, then gasped in pain and slumped back down.

"Don't move," Dora Luz said, hurrying to the bedside and propping her up with pillows. "It's broken."

"What happened…?"

"You've scared me and that poor boy half to death, that's what happened." She shook her head as angry fear overtook her. "You foolish girl. Running off alone, not telling anyone? What made you think _that_ would end well?"

"Oh, so it's my fault."

"Yes! Some of it!"

Her energy seemed to drain away suddenly, and she quietly sat down on the bed while staring down at her hands. "I suppose that makes us even now."

In the dim light, Maria thought, she looked as though the wear of ten years had done their work in an instant. "…What are you doing here?"

"I sent Manolo outside for a spell. Promised I'd watch you." She paused for a moment, biting her lip. "…It's about time I did."

Maria began to answer, but Dora Luz spoke up before she did. "Have I ever told you where this came from?" she asked as she held up the still-broken young woman looked at it with a hint of apprehension. "Papa said you left it for me."  
"My _abuela_ said her great-grandmother had it made for her wedding. It's been passed to each daughter. Tradition. I always hated traditions." She frowned at the memories. "I was going to take it with me and pretend I hadn't left a trace."

"So why didn't you?" Maria's voice was firm, but not quivering with rage as it had been the night before.

"I put it on, and…it felt so heavy all of a sudden. Too heavy to wear. First I thought I could sell it, or just throw it in the lake. I didn't know what made me give it to your father with a note to save it for you. Not back then." Her hands began to shake as she looked up and held the necklace out towards her daughter. "You wore it better than me. You always have."

Maria's stony expression briefly seemed to waver as she quickly looked down, her curls covering her face.

"Do you remember when we met on the train?"

"…I didn't know what to say."

"Neither did I," the older woman continued. "But it was the happiest I'd been in years." She sighed, and a slight, tearful shudder came with it. "You were just as I'd been years before. And where had I been during all of it? Trudging around the continent finding trinkets to fill up all the empty space in this house."

The lack of reaction from the other woman was agonizing now, enough to drive her mad.

"I read all your letters," Dora Luz said, desperate to fend off the silence. "I kept them all. I even came to your first fencing tournament. I was _so proud_ of you, _mija._ I've always been proud of you." She reached for Maria's hand and squeezed it. The girl didn't react. "…Your father told me all about what happened with the bandits, you know. You did more with your life in one day than I did in years."

"But you've - "

"Traveled? It's hardly traveling if you spend all your time running away. I never helped anyone. I never found someone who loved me like that boy loves you." She was fighting back tears now. "But you…you never gave up. And look at you now." Placing the necklace on the bed, she let her hand slip out of her daughter's. "I _do_ want you, Maria. I have every day for the last ten years. And I'm sorry I didn't realize that in time. I'm _so _sorry…"

"…What do you mean, 'in time'?"

"You don't want me. You don't even need me."

A shaking hand slowly reached out and grasped hers. "I do now." Maria's eyes were glistening as she pushed herself forward. "I mean it."

Dora Luz braced herself and glanced up. "Do you…think we could try again?"

Maria quickly leaned forward and hugged her mother, resting her head against her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I'm just glad you're safe."

"…I love you, Mama…"

Footsteps hurried down the hallway, and Manolo opened the door. "How is - "

He froze at the sight of Maria. She smiled and held out her arms, and he gratefully stumbled into them.

Dora Luz chuckled. "Doing very well, I'd say."

* * *

They stayed a week longer than they had planned due to Maria's leg. She was quick to ignore the rule about staying in bed and began to wander around the house as soon as she was able. Dora Luz propped her up and helped her around during the day, pointing out the favorite pieces of her collection and the little stories which went with them.

She spoke more of her travels in the evening, when Maria and Manolo joined her in the parlor after dinner. She showed them photographs of city skylines and distant ruins, talked for hours of who she had rubbed shoulders with, what Maria would have liked, where she hadn't been yet. Perhaps they could go together, she said. Maria and Manolo told her about San Angel, how their families and friends were doing, as much of the circumstances surrounding their marriage as they thought she would believe. For a few days, the large dark house seemed to become much smaller and brighter.

The day of Manolo and Maria's departure came all too soon. Dora Luz drove them back into the city and escorted them to the docks, holding Maria's hand all the way. The fading circles around her eyes were already beginning to return.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Maria asked her mother. She fingered her now-repaired necklace as she spoke.

"I've made it this far by myself, haven't I?" She turned to Manolo. "See to it that she minds her steps, dear."

_"Sí, señora."_

"And remember to write!"

"We promise." Maria began to follow Manolo towards the boat, then paused and embraced Dora Luz. "Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

She paused, then smiled. "…You're welcome."

"Come and see us sometime."

Grabbing their bags, Maria and Manolo hurried up the gangway. Dora Luz watched them disappear, then waited until the steamship was sailing away from the dock. Her smile faded, and she sighed as she turned to walk back to her car.

_Come and see us sometime._ She had enjoyed San Angel quite a bit, even if she couldn't say the same for the reason she was there. Living on the old estate had become quite dreary - far more room than she actually needed. And with the way things in Europe were looking, it might even be wise to go abroad. At least for a few months. Maybe even longer.

_Jeronimo's going to throw __**such**__ a fit._ _It'll be lovely._


End file.
